Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
M ac
“Traffic,” I explain, ignoring Shari’s very pointed look when I eventually arrive at the location of the incident, fifteen minutes late.
Levi was right; I couldn’t make it to High Wycombe in twenty minutes. Not because of my car, but because I wasn’t thinking straight enough to give a coherent answer about how long it would take. I’m surprised I can even drive after what we just did.
I’ve been warring with myself for the last two weeks about what I should do. I’d been resolute in my no-touch stance, but Levi blew my defences away when he blew me in the bathroom on Christmas Day, and since then I’ve been a mess.
I know on every level that I should stay as far away as possible, but I can’t. I’m drawn to him in a way I’ve never felt about anyone before. I’ve hit the gym more to cope, which is far preferable to some of the other ways I could choose to try and blot out how much I crave him. But in the end I knew I’d cave in. We’d already crossed the line when he went down on his knees, so I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Not that I intend to be found out of course.
“You alright, Mac?” Shari asks, and I realise I’d spaced out for a minute.
“Yeah, sure,” I reply, needing to get my brain in gear. I look up at the ordinary two-storey house on a typical suburban street. Police tape cordons off the site, with the usual gaggle of neighbours standing on the other side of it. I turn my attention to her.
“What have we got?”
“Double homicide.”
Shit.
As we walk into the house, showing our badges to the officer tasked with guarding the scene, she fills me in on what we know so far. We stay there for at least an hour, until forensics arrive and we hand over the site to them, discussing areas they might need to pay particular attention to. I’ve learned a lot from my colleagues in forensics over the years, and we have a good team.
Eventually we drive back to the station. I like to write up reports straight away while everything is still fresh in my head. It’s too early to know what’s going to happen and I don’t know if we’ll be assigned the case, but detailed reports will help either myself or whomever takes over, so I like to put as much in them as possible.
Several hours later, when I’m just finishing up, Shari knocks on my door and I gesture for her to come in.
“You done?” she asks.
“Pretty much.” I hit save on my document and sit back from my computer. My stomach gives a low growl, and I glance at the clock on the wall across the open-plan office outside.
“Shit, is that the time?” It’s two o’clock.
“Have you eaten yet?” she asks.
“I thought that was obvious,” I reply as my stomach makes it clear I haven’t, and she gives a quick grin.
“Have you?” I ask and she shakes her head. “Do you want to grab some lunch?”
She agrees and goes to fetch a coat. Going out to lunch is a rare occasion, but I could really do with a break and to get out of the office after having to write the report.
We walk out of the station to a small cafe a couple of streets away. It’s a real greasy-spoon place, used fairly frequently by the station staff. I’ve known Ted and Babs, the husband and wife team who own it, for years.
We find a table in the corner and sit, placing our orders when Babs bustles over, but I don’t speak until she’s brought our coffees. Shari instantly picks out a bundle of cutlery wrapped in a paper napkin from the pot on the table and starts fiddling with them. It’s a classic tell, and another reason why I’m happy to get her away from the station for a while.
“How are you doing?” I ask her and she grimaces slightly. Homicides are always messy, and while I’ve gotten used to having to deal with them, I know it can be hard when you first start out.
“Does the feeling that it’s a terrible waste of life ever go away?” she asks, picking up the knife and turning it over in her hand.
“No,” I reply, and she looks up sharply with a frown etched on her face. Clearly this isn’t the answer she wanted, but I’m not going to lie to her.
“If we ever get so hardened to terrible events that we’re no longer affected by them, I think we lose our humanity. When we can’t bear the atrocities humans can inflict on each other, we have the drive to seek justice, for the victims, for their families. If we can’t care about them, then we no longer become effective at our jobs. If we become so disengaged that it doesn’t affect us on some level, then we might as well be on the other side of the law. It’s that humanity that keeps us good at our jobs.”
She starts tracing the patterns on the vinyl tablecloth with her knife, a move from the more violent flipping to a more thoughtful, cerebral process.
“I never thought about it like that,” she says slowly.
“That feeling never goes away. It keeps us who we are. .. cops,” I say. “But it does get easier to deal with, and easier to focus on the fact finding, which is our contribution to the justice process.”
She looks up at me but I still see doubt in her face.
“You know you can always see a counsellor if you need to talk it through.”
She frowns as if it’s not something she’s thought of, even though the option is always there. I wonder if it’s her upbringing. Going to a counsellor is often seen as a sign of weakness, which is so very British, but from what I hear of her family, it could very well be the case with them too.
“Have you ever been a counsellor?” she asks eventually.
“Many times,” I answer, and it’s true. I struggled with seeing the effects of crime on victims and their families. Being so close to raw grief can take its toll. “Talking it through with someone who’s trained to listen can really help,” I assure her, and she seems to be taking it in.
Our food arrives and for a few minutes that’s all I concentrate on as I’m famished.
“Where were you this morning?” Shari’s question comes out of the blue just as I have a forkful of food halfway to my mouth. I let it continue its journey and take my time chewing and swallowing, my brain running through a hundred answers. In the end I settle on a version of the truth.
“I was at my mum’s house.” I keep my voice as neutral as possible. Shari’s dark eyes fix on me, and I try to ignore the thought that she can see into my soul because I’m already going to hell for this. “She had a problem with the kitchen table. She needed it mending. It had a wobble.” Yep, straight to hell. I will not be passing go or collecting any money on my way.
“What were you thinking?” Shari says and my heart stops beating. Does she know? How can she know? “Twenty minutes from Larchdown to High Wycombe? That was never gonna be possible.”
My heart restarts with a jolt, and I let out a huff of relief, trying to turn it into a laugh.
“Well, not in your car anyway.” She grins and goes back to finishing her lunch. Will people stop beating my poor car up?
“It’s not that bad,” I protest, and I receive a look that tells me she doesn’t agree then she proceeds to tell me why. I let her. It’s a safe topic and it gives me time for my heart to return to its normal rhythm.
When we’ve finished, we walk back to the station just in time to gather our notes before a briefing. There’s only a month or so to go before the trial starts, so we’re just finishing up the last few loose ends and feeding them to the prosecution lawyer. It’s her job to make sense of it all now and present it in the best way possible. She’ll contact us if she has any specific questions.
Nolan calls me as I’m leaving work.
“Do you want to go to the gym?”
“Not tonight.”
“Sure, no problem. How about we skip the gym and go to the pub instead?”
Usually I’d welcome the chance to hang out with Nolan, but not this evening. There’s no way I can be near my best friend tonight. Levi is never far from my mind, and after a couple of drinks I might just blurt out something compromising.
“Can I take a rain check? We had a big incident this morning and I just need some time alone.”
“I saw that on the news. Were you there? It looked grim.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“Okay mate. Well, call me if you need anything.” He buys my lie easily.
“Thanks. I will,” I say, ringing off. A small fizzle of guilt rises and I push it away. I’ll see Nolan in a few days time, but right now I want nothing more than to spend my evening alone with a bottle of lube, replaying the events of the morning and working out what I’m going to do next.